


À La Plage

by luulapants



Series: Tumblr ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Beach House, M/M, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luulapants/pseuds/luulapants
Summary: This wasn’t what Chris had imagined when he and Isaac came to France. They had come to heal, to find some peace. Somehow, in those aching days and weeks of mourning, they had found something else, too.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Isaac Lahey
Series: Tumblr ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894675
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	À La Plage

Chris made a half-attempt to wipe the sand from his feet as he stepped into the cottage. It was a losing battle here. The sand got into everything: clothing, furniture, food. He swore he even felt it on his toothbrush sometimes. They got used to it, though. With time, a person could get used to just about anything.

He set his water bottle on the kitchen counter and twisted the tap on the kitchen sink. It shuddered and whined before a slow trickle of water started. As he waited for the bottle to fill, Chris cast his gaze around their temporary home. Only a narrow breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the aged couch and wicker armchair that comprised the living room. A folding screen separated the bed from the rest of the living space.

A ceiling fan in the center of the room spun in steady circles, pushing around the hot, salty ocean air. He turned his face up toward it, closing his eyes as the sweat on his brow began to cool.

Behind him, he heard the slosh of water as the bottle overfilled. He cursed under his breath and rushed to shut off the tap.

A soft mumble came from behind the folding screen. “Chris?”

“Sorry,” Chris said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

The creaking of the bed preceded the appearance of a sleep-mussed mop of curls over the top of the folding screen, then arms raised in a lazy stretch. Isaac came around the screen in nothing but a pair of white boxers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You go for a run?” he asked.

Chris hummed his assent. As he drank from his water bottle, his eyes never left the lean lines of Isaac’s body, golden tanned from hours on the beach. He had a hickey on his collarbone, and Chris knew there was a matching one on the knob of his spine, too.

This wasn’t what he had imagined when the two of them came to France. They had come to heal, to find some peace. Somehow, in those aching days and weeks of mourning, they had found something else, too. Chris knew better than to congratulate himself for it. Isaac was less than half his age. Allison’s age. But they had both lost so much, suffered so much. He didn’t have it in him to deny them both the comfort they craved.

Isaac came to him, still hazy with sleep, and pressed in close. He tucked his nose into the crook of Chris’s neck and inhaled. “I kind of like when you smell sweaty,” he confessed.

Chris felt his lips tug into a smile, turned to kiss the side of Isaac’s head.

“Oh, you got a text while you were out,” Isaac told him. He yawned noisily against Chris’s shoulder. “From Scott.”


End file.
